


Unbreakable Machine

by SteveGarbage



Series: FEH Resplendent Hero shorts [25]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Gen, Gullinbursti - Freeform, Niðavellir | Nidavellir, Resplendent Hero, Seidr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29379675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteveGarbage/pseuds/SteveGarbage
Summary: A short story celebrating Ike's Resplendent Hero garb of Niðavellir.
Series: FEH Resplendent Hero shorts [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722151
Kudos: 7





	Unbreakable Machine

The sound of metal tearing metal screeched.

The iron monstrosity teetered and fell, throwing up dust as it smashed into ground bereft of one of its legs. Ike burst through the cloud of smoke and dirt and sparks as he raised Urvan above his head, bringing the axe crashing down on the panel of buttons and switches in the front, sending a burst of sparks exploding into the face of the driver of the mechanical beast.

He pulled the axe back as the terrified rider scurried out of the chair and crawled toward the side of the arena pit, only to watch the deranged king of Niðavellir draw a weapon from his belt and fire at the man, the slender tube of metal bursting in smoke and flame as its shot struck the man in the head, killing him.

Ike had spared all of the riders after neutralizing their weaponized mounts. The king had not. The bodies were scattered around the arena, pools of blood staining the sand red underneath them.

The air was thick with acrid smoke and the heavy smell of oil as heaps of broken metal lay scattered around him and burned slowly, paint and metal slowly scorching and melting into the sand of the pit. Ike tipped his father's axe back, resting the blade on the heavy metal pauldron at his left shoulder as he caught his breath, glaring up at the only two spectators sitting in the empty stadium bleachers. The king's mouth quivered back and forth as if Fáfnir's face couldn't decide whether it wanted to rest, smile, scowl or twist all at the same time. Next to the circleted king, his younger brother, Ótr, sat with his arms crossed.

"More," the king demanded, loudly to the no one else who was in the stadium, at least that Ike could see.

"Brother, he's already destroyed eight Gullinbursti," the prince noted.

"I know," the king acknowledged with a hissing that straddled the border between rage and delight. He narrowed his gaze and commanded, "Swords."

Ótr waited a moment, then motioned his hand to someone somewhere that Ike couldn't see from the bottom of the pit. Instead, he was met by the sound of the doors within the circular walls of the arena opening, one on either side, as two more of the mechanized cavalry units stepped out.

Ike dropped Urvan from his shoulder, clutching the pole of the axe in both hands as he watched his opponents emerge. Like the others, both rode inside the oversized mechanized armor suits, wielding oversized blades and shields in the mechanical arms and equipped with boxes on top that turned and steam and fired projectiles.

The riders in the suits of armor paused as they looked at the state of destruction in the pit before settling their gaze on Ike and launching into the attack. The one to his left charged, while the one to his right kept close to the wall and circled as the doors dropped off the front of the boxes above the rider's head as began to fire at him.

Ike had learned early on that those projectiles were more concern than the blades could ever be after the first had stung him, sharp bolts of metal that tore right through his armor and punctured his flesh underneath. He put the ball of his foot toward the ground and launched ahead toward the other enemy approaching him in melee, ducking under the slash of the mechanical blade as it went for his head as he slid under the guard, putting his sword-wielding opponent between him and the other as he could hear the pings of metal on metal as one opponent struck the other.

The mechanical horse wheeled, its metal legs tapping like a spider's in the dirt as it quickly spun, whipping the sword around with it. Ike lifted Urvan, catching the first strike and withstanding a second, follow-up, before offering a strike of his own, leaping and flipping into the air in a ball as Urvan spun over his head, the powerful Aether strike shearing the sword arm off the mechanical monster in a scream of metal tearing metal and snapping of sparks.

The Niðavellirian rider shuffled backward in his metal horse and as Ike saw the doors drop over the overhead boxes, he quickly lunged forward again as it opened fire, the metal projectile striking the sand behind him as he closed within the minimum range of the weapon, too high and too rigid to shoot down at anything directly in front of it. The opponent tried to shuffle backward to buy the range that it needed, but it crashed into the wall behind it as Ike reached up, grabbing the collar of the man inside the machine and ripping him out of the seat, throwing him over his shoulder onto the ground.

Ike turned as he heard the familiar _whoosh_ sound behind him, rolling to his side as the smoking tube passed over his head, striking the other machine and exploding in a burst of flame as it shredded the metal. Ike popped back to his feet as he heard the also-familiar _bang_ and watched the rider he had dismounted shot down into the dirt. He wasn't quite dead, and as he tried to crawl forward, the king of Niðavellir fired a second time, putting the man still into the ground.

The other mech continued to prance at a distant and shoot at him, not daring to be so foolhardy as the others to try to match him in hand-to-hand combat.

Ike ducked and curled, throwing his cape over himself and planting the head of Urvan into the dirt, holding as the metal pellets deflected off the face of the axe and the heavy metal pauldron, withstanding the barrage of fire. Ike peeked around the edge of the axe blade, rotating his body as the mechanical opponent rotated, safe behind his defense. If his opponent wanted to play that game, he was welcome to do so as Ike steadied his breath behind his stalwart guard, waiting out the attack.

His father had taught him everything he knew about battle and the lessons always flooded back to the front of his consciousness in the fight.

_"Always take time to heal your wounds in a battle–even small ones. By the time you think you’re in trouble, it’s probably too late…Don’t get into that situation.”_

Ike dabbed the puncture wounds at his right flank again, scowling as his fingers still came up with blood. He had managed to pick the sharp pieces of shrapnel out of rend in his armor, but without a vulnerary or other supplies at his disposal, there wasn't much he could do at the moment. The king hadn't given him much time to rest, or else he might have started shredding the yellow cape clasped at his neck to make his own bandages. He had taken a few small cuts and shots, but nothing critical.

_“Father, you were holding back, weren’t you?”_

_“If you could tell the difference, that means you’re improving.”_

Ike glanced back up at the king and his brother, wondering at their endgame. He wasn't quite sure how he had arrived here. He had woken up face-down in the dirt of the arena. They must have poisoned and abducted him from Askr, although he wasn't sure how and when. The walls of the arena were too high to vault and there proved to be no escaping the fighting pit. The only possible exit was through the doors in the walls that spit out fresh opponents, but they were too far away and stayed open too short for him to make an attempt.

Little did Fáfnir know, however, was that he was holding back, too.

_"Men won’t survive on a battlefield if they do as they wish without so much as a by-your-leave.”_

He had learned early in his youth that there was a time for bold action but that patience proved to be the safer, smarter alternative most times. He had once been hot-headed, wild, disrespectful in his youth. Fighting through a war, having his friends and his allies following at his command, though, had shown him the truth of his father's words. Biding time, formulating a strategy and executing it had served him well. Anger, vengeance, rage could fuel an attack, but in a battle were dangerous shortcuts to an early grave.

_"If you’ve got time to waste, you’ve got time to work."_

After his father's death at the hands of the Black Knight, he had taken the lesson to heart. He had devoted himself fully to his training, to growing his strength and ability in a quest to avenge his father. And even when he had defeated the Black Knight in single combat and brought the castle down upon his head, he had not stopped there. He had not just wielded the sword but taken up the axe as well to diversify his ability, long hours of training growing his strength and bulk and prowess on the battlefield.

_"Remember–you’ve got only one life."_

The sound of metal pinging stopped and as Ike looked around the edge of his axe, he could see the mechanical enemy smoking, the boxes atop glowing red hot as its rider frantically pressed at buttons, trying to get it to fire again.

Ike rose to his feet, watching the terrified rider struggling to get his machine working. Ike drew Urvan back over his shoulder, judging the distance and heaved the axe, spinning end-over-end as the blade slammed into the metal between the two molten boxes, causing the entire housing to explode in flames and sending the machine crumpling to the ground.

Ike looked over his shoulder at the king of Niðavellir glaring from the stadium seats as he paced across the arena, walking to the broken hulk of metal as he grabbed the haft of Urvan and wedged it out of the destroyed machine.

"Help... meee," the rider trapped under the burning wreckage called out weakly, extending an arm toward Ike.

He was greeted by a _bang_ from the stands as he was shot between the eyes.

Ike walked away, disgusted, returning to the center of the arena with Urvan over his shoulder.

"End this senseless bloodshed, Fáfnir!" Ike boomed at the king, his brows bent in fury.

The prince leaned and whispered something to his brother, who muttered something quietly back.

"Not until you break, oh brave hero," the king responded mockingly.

The doors opened again. Ike dropped Urvan off his should and took up his guard, again.

The only think that would break by the end of the day would be Fáfnir's patience.


End file.
